Fate and French Linen
by Lady Etiquette
Summary: Matthew, looking for companionship in Paris, unknowingly finds it with a woman who has a secret identity. Thanks to Julian Fellows for these lovely characters!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N ** What if Matthew's attempt to find companionship in Paris was superceded by fate? Enjoy! :)

* * *

Paris 1917

Mary ran through the rain, with one of her hands holding her hat on to her head. The Parisian rain poured down in a torrential manner, drenching her until she was soaking wet. She had been separated from Granny at the train station and all of her attempts to find Granny's French apartment were unsuccessful. Her luggage seemed to have made it, but she was still misplaced.

Standing on a street corner she looked up and down the boulevard as the street lamps were lit by lighters on stilts in the damp evening dusk. Throngs of well dressed people holding umbrellas, and men in French and English uniforms, dashed up and down the sidewalks, darting in to restaurants and offices to avoid the rain.

Running down the street, Mary's eyes noticed a beautiful home set back off the street, behind a gate. She walked briskly trying to avoid puddles, but despite her best efforts water splashed up on to her legs and skirt. The gate was open and she pushed in, letting it slam shut haphazardly behind her as she walked through the open courtyard.

She rushed up to the front door, which was an inviting entryway. A brass plaque was embedded above the address beside the door frame, and was engraved with the name of the house: Maison de Mon Coeur.

After a hesitation, Mary rang the door bell and waited anxiously. Several moments passed and then the door opened and revealed an elegantly dressed older woman with a friendly smile and warm eyes. "Bon jour mademoiselle."

Mary's hand was still over her head. "Do you speak English? Anglaise?"

The woman nodded. "Oui, yes, of course!" She opened the door and stepped aside. "Please, come in miss before you are washed away!"

Relieved to find a safe haven, Mary accepted the kind woman's offer and eagerly stepped inside. Finally lowering her hand, she glanced around the foyer to discover an opulent entrance with fresh flowers, oil paintings and a crackling fire in the fireplace.

"What are you doing lost in Paris, miss…miss?"

Mary looked around to her mysterious hostess. "Crawley," she replied with a smile. "My name is Mary Crawley." Mary slid her wet hat off, shaking it slightly to rid it of excess water.

The woman extended her hand. "Ah, how do you do, Miss Crawley. I am Madame Vouloir." Her grip was firm but tender and earnest. "It will be dark soon. Please come in from that ghastly weather!"

"I'm so very sorry to trouble you, Madame Vouloir. Please forgive me."

The older woman smiled. "Oh, nonsense, Miss Crawley. A nice young woman like you should not be running around Paris unaccompanied. I am delighted you found refuge here at Maison de Mon Coeur.

Mary tilted her head. "Home of my My Heart. What a lovely name."

A younger woman appeared from around the corner to assist Madame Vouloir with Mary's hat and coat. Madame Vouloir handed the garments off to the young assistant. "We're used to visitors here."

Mary looked around and suddenly took notice of various women in the drawing room seated with much older officers. It suddenly dawned on her that Madame Vouloir was, indeed, a Madame in the truest sense of the word. "Oh," she exhaled, feeling uncomfortable and unable to hide her expression, "Yes, I see."

"Oh now, now, Miss Crawley. Please don't be alarmed." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "In spite of what you may think, this is a nice establishment and nothing untoward will happen here. In fact, I can't think of a better place in all of Paris for you to have stumbled upon."

Mary's hand reached up and self consciously fiddled with the buttons on the bodice of her afternoon dress. "Yes, of course. But I'm sure I can find my grandmother's house once the rain stops."

Madame Vouloir was reassuring. "Miss Crawley, I can assure you that you are quite safe here and won't be bothered by any of our guests or business transactions." She patted Mary's arm.

Mary whispered but remained polite. "Really, I should try to find my…"

Madame Vouloir was insistant. "My dear, it's nearly dark outside and still pouring rain. Please don't worry, and you can use my telephone to contact your grandmother and let her know where you are." She led Mary through to a well appointed salon warmed by a fire in the fireplace. "And if the streets are flooded, as they usually are with this type of rain, you may stay the night in one of our regular hotel rooms which I assure you is safe and utterly private. I run a very discreet business so you will not be bothered in the least."

Mary did, indeed, feel safe. Madame Vouloir was charming and the old house was warm and elegant. She glanced in the direction of the living room and noticed that the young women and the officers they were with had left. Probably gone upstairs, she presumed. She sighed but felt at ease around her hostess. "I suppose you're right, Madame."

"Of course. I usually am," the woman quipped. "Have you had anything to eat since your arrival my dear?"

Mary's growling stomach gave her away. "I'm afraid not. The train station was a mad house."

Madame Vouloir put her hands on her hips. "I thought as much. I can always tell when a young person hasn't had enough to eat. I see it with the young men all the time, the poor lads. I think they come here as much for the food as they do for companionship."

Mary slightly blushed at the reference. "Yes, I can imagine." She thought about Matthew and remembered how thin he had looked during his last visit to Downton. "I suppose you see many young officers, don't you?"

The Madame smiled. "We get our share of colonels and generals, but on occasion we get the lovely young officers who miss their sweethearts." She set a glass of port down in front of Mary. "There, now drink that and warm up." As Mary sipped her drink, Madame Vouloir looked out the window. "Well, just as I thought. The streets are flooding."

Mary looked up expectantly. "Oh, no, are you certain?"

Madame Vouloir glanced back over her shoulder at her. "Quite. I think you should remain here. We'll make sure you have a nice dinner, a warm bed, and in the morning I'll have my driver take you over to your grandmothers. Everything will be fine, I assure you."

Mary had to admit it was much more appealing then wandering the streets of Paris at night. She sat back against the divan. "Yes, I suppose you are right. And when I call Granny I can confirm the address."

Madame Vouloir poured another splash of port in Mary's glass. "The telephone is right over there." She motioned toward an ornate desk. "Please feel free to call your grandmother and let her know here you are and that you are perfectly safe and sound, and then we'll have dinner and I'll show you to your room."

Mary smiled appreciatively. "Merci, Madame."

* * *

Matthew ran down the flooded boulevard, his boots splashing in puddles of water along the street. _Damned French rain_, he thought. It was bad enough he was always wet in the trenches, it was all the more frustrating to be wet when he was on leave in Paris. He kept glancing at the addresses as he passed each doorway, then looked down at a piece of paper in his hand.

Finally, he stood outside the gate of a large house. The rain cascaded over the bill of his officer's hat and dripped on to his cheeks and face, his eye lashes blinking away the rivulets of water. He read the small piece of paper in his hand again, squinting to ensure he had the right address. He let out a breath in the night air and stamped his feet to stay warm. "This is ridiculous," he admitted to no one. Still, he had made a promise to himself and intended to keep it.

He walked through the gate and across the courtyard. Looking up he saw the name plate beside the door, the same that was on the slip of paper in his hand. He muttered the name of the establishment aloud to himself, "Maison de Mon Coeur."

With that, he rang the bell and waited.


	2. Chapter 2

Following a dinner of duck l'orange and Bordeaux, Mary made her way upstairs to her room. Madame Vouloir had given her a key and directions to the fourth floor, a private section of the grand house set aside for non-business guests.

As Mary walked along the hallway she decided to stop at the lavvy. It was a small but beautiful water closet, appointed with heavy milled soaps and crisp linen towels. It had both a toilet and a bidet, which Mary raised an eyebrow at. She used the former, washed her hands and stepped back out in to the hallway to make her way to her room.

But she stopped, perplexed and feeling disoriented. Was she supposed to make a right? Or was it a left? She looked down both directions of the corridor. _Damn it_, she murmured to herself. Maison de Mon Coeur was not a home she wanted to get lost in. She held the key up to the light trying to read the numbers on the brass tag. Was it twenty six or thirty six?

Squinting at the numbers on the doors, she realized twenty six was just a few doors down. "Twenty six it is then," she whispered to herself as she stepped softly toward the door to the room.

Upon entering she was immediately greeted by the glow of the fireplace which warmed the room and her heart. It was a lovely, cozy, corner room with antique furniture, several overstuffed velvet chairs, a bureau, and a large double bed covered with a fluffy, down duvet. A dressing screen partitioned off one corner, and a silver tray sat atop the bureau with what appeared to be a bottle of brandy and a carafe of water and two glasses.

Mary couldn't hold back the smile the beautiful room gave her on such a storm-filled night.

* * *

Matthew stood awkwardly in the salon with Madame Vouloir. He admired her appearance, her swept-up dark hair and black wool suit. She was tall and buxom and wore red lipstick, which he found not only sophisticated but quite sensual. He guessed her age to be about forty five.

As she leaned over her desk, she looked up at him from under her glasses. "Did you say you had an appointment Lieutenant?"

He cleared his throat. "No, Madame. I'm afraid not. It was a fellow officer of mine who did."

"And what's his name?" She asked in a business-like manner as she turned the page of the appointment ledger, looking up at Matthew.

Matthew paused and his voice became quiet. "Billingsly. His name was James Billingsly."

Madame Vouloir focused her attention back down at her book. "Ah, oui, here it is. Lieutenant James Billingsly." She ran her finger tip across the page. "He has a reservation for this evening." She looked back up at Matthew, but could see in the young captain's face that James Billingsly would not be keeping his appointment. Her tone was gentle and understanding. "You are attending in his place, Lieutenant?"

Matthew shifted on his feet, uncomfortable with the whole business, including Billingsly's death. He held out the piece of white paper in his hand. "He was killed in action two weeks ago. This was in his pocket, you see."

Madame Vouloir crossed over to him, closing her glasses in her hands, and glanced down at the note in the palm of his hand. She spoke in a whisper. "I see." She smiled at him. "May I ask you a personal question, sir?"

Matthew nodded subtly in silent anticipation.

"Have you ever been to an establishment like this one, Lieutenant?" Her voice was breathless as she leaned slightly forward and posed the question.

Matthew gently shook his head. "Ah, no. No, I haven't." Just then he glanced out the doorway, where several men were gathering with two women. Madame Vouloir sensed his discomfort and stepped over to the door and discreetly closed it. She returned to his side and spoke in a sweet, soft voice. "May I ask if you have you ever spent the evening with a woman?"

Matthew's blue eyes held hers as he straightened his shoulders. "Well," he started, "I had girlfriends at university, of course, and my share of intimate moments. In fact I am engaged to be married."

She smiled at his sweet nature and the way he was spinning his hat in his hands as he explained. She knew that this was a man who was not looking for sexual experimentation. He was a romantic; a man who believed in love, and clearly had one in his heart. She mentally contemplated all of the girls in the house, trying to decide on just the right one to accompany him.

"But, no, I have never spent the night with a woman and I don't want to fall like my friend without ever having known a woman in...that way." He took a small breath and raised a hand to his brow in embarrassment. "I'm sure it all sounds completely juvenile, doesn't it? I mean, honestly…" he didn't know what else to say and already felt he had said too much.

Madame Vouloir was enamored with him. If she were a few years younger she would escort him herself. But instead she reached out an affectionate hand and rubbed his upper arm. "My dear Lieutenant, there is nothing to be embarrassed about at Maison de Mon Coeur. And there is no reason to be apologetic about your conviction. And the last time I checked, morals and virtue were still considered assets, and I am delighted to meet a man who still has a firm grip on both."

Matthew exhaled and smiled back at her. "Thank you."

"Not at all." She slid an arm through his elbow, walking him toward the door. "Now, I'd like to talk with you about Genevieve."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Matthew was walking down the long hallway of the fourth floor, nervously glancing down at the key in his hand and the numbers on the doors. He paused at the water closet, stopping to use it. As he washed his hands he noticed the bidet which brought a smile to his face. He had heard other bachelors talked about them, but this was the first time he had ever personally seen one, in a brothel, no less. If he left now, the entire venture would still have been worth it.

Back out in the hall, he stopped and looked down at the key in his hand. The numbers on the brass tag were blurred with age and handling. He looked right and then left. "Was it thirty six or twenty six?" He murmured to himself. _Blast_, he thought as his shoulders slumped and he let out a sigh. A woman was waiting for him in one of these rooms…but which one?

* * *

Mary stood happily behind the dressing screen removing her skirt and stockings. She was eager to try on the clean satin nightgown and robe that had been provided for her. She shrugged off her blouse which she hung up with her skirt. As she reached around to begin grappling with the laces of her corset, she stopped at the sound of the door opening, followed by a man's voice.

"Mademoiselle?" He called out softly as he stepped inside. He felt ridiculous, yet anticipation and intrigue coursed through his veins.

_Dear God,_ she thought, _a man had wandered in to her room!_ Mary frantically grabbed the robe from its hangar and froze. She opened her mouth to say something, but the gentleman spoke again.

"Hello?" Matthew called out as he quietly shut the door behind him.

At first she was startled, and thought about screaming. But a second later her brows knitted in intrigue as she held the robe against her front. There was something strikingly familiar about the gentleman's voice, as though she had heard it before. She tentatively turned around and peeked through the slits in the folds of the dressing screen. Peering through, she had to cup a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp…_Matthew!_ He looked wonderful in his uniform, and all in one piece, safe and sound. She wanted to bolt from around the screen and surprise him with a hug; but she remained hidden instead.

"Hello?' he called again gently, clasping his hat in his hands in front of him. "I'm terribly sorry if I'm intruding…"

A naughty, delicious notion entered her head and Mary couldn't help herself. Before she could exercise common sense and stop this charade, she blurted it out. "Non, non, monsieur. It's quite alright." She shut her eyes in disbelief at the words tumbling out of her mouth as she struggled to disguise her voice by slightly lowering it and using a French accent. "Please come in."

"Oh," he asked politely, "you speak English?" O_f course she does you idiot_, he bullied himself. He started to sit down on the bed, and then immediately stood back up. _Stupid, stupid,_ he chastised himself.

Mary slipped the robe on over her shoulders. "Yes, oui," she replied in a whispery voice. What could she possibly be thinking? Her heart pounded in her chest. She knew this was wrong and deceitful and reckless…and yet, she felt amazingly alive and tingled all over. And what the devil was Matthew doing here anyway? Her hands flew up to her hair realizing it was still pinned up, so she went to work pulling the combs and pins out. "But of course monsieur."

Matthew noticed the tray and brandy bottle. "Would you care for a cognac?" He knew he could certainly use one—his nerves were shattered.

"Yes, please…thank you." She replied as she let her hair tumble down over her neckline. Her eyes darted around for a hair brush. She saw one on a side table in front of her and as she reached for it she happened to notice several cosmetic items. A kohl pencil and a tube of lipstick.

Matthew poured himself a generous brandy and drank most of it in one long sip. He poured a second splash for himself and a glass for his hostess. "It's Genevieve, is it not?" He asked as he poured.

Mary smudged the little black pencil color around her eyes, then swiped the red lipstick over her lips and fingered her hair around her face. "I beg your pardon?" Assessing herself with a hand mirror, Mary felt deliciously risqué. Just as she was setting the mirror down, the electricity suddenly went out, plunging the room in to darkness accept for the burning embers from the fireplace. _Fate,_ Mary thought..._it was_ _fate._

Matthew looked around the room. "The storm must have knocked the lights out. I better put more wood on the fire." He knelt down at the hearth and set several logs on the grate, stoking the flames back to life.

Mary steeled herself, tightened the robe around her and said a quick prayer asking for forgiveness. As she stepped from behind the screen, she leaned against it alluringly, facing him in the glow of the darkness.

Matthew stood and looked at her sultry silhouette. He smiled and spoke invitingly. "Good evening….Genevieve, is it?" He cocked his head to one side.

She held her breath "I think you should call me whatever you like," she whispered tenderly. "And I'll have that brandy now."

* * *

**A/N** M/M thrown together accidentally in a brothel, where Mary knows it's him, but Matthew does not know it's her...fate, fate, fate! At this point, we could have Mary confess and put an end to all this madness...but what fun would that be? :)


	3. Chapter 3

Matthew extended his hand, offering a glass of brandy out to the woman in front of him. It was hard to make out her features in the darkness, with only the amber glow of the fire, but she somehow reminded him of Mary. It seemed all women were now reminding him of her; he laughed inwardly at the thought that even a call girl appeared to resemble her. It was preposterous. "Well, I'd prefer to call you by your name, if it's all the same to you?"

Mary took the glass. "Yes, of course. Genevieve is fine." She noticed his jacket. "Your uniform is wet from the rain." She stepped toward him. "Why don't you let me help you out of it and we'll hang it to dry here, by the fire?"

Matthew's eyes looked down over his tunic. "Yes, I suppose you're right." He watched as her hands worked on the buttons.

Mary's fingers stopped at the holster of his sidearm. "Is this weapon safe to remove?"

A deep chuckled bubbled up from his chest and he answered in a whisper. "I don't think _that's_ the weapon we need to worry about going off prematurely."

Mary felt a blush burn her cheeks. As long as she had known Matthew, she had never heard him speak so suggestively…but she loved every word of it. She felt a tingling sensation simmer throughout her body. She removed the waist belt and he helped her unfasten the Sam Brown belt from his shoulder, followed by his tunic. She went to work hanging the garment up on a hangar beside the fireplace.

More comfortable now, he leaned an arm on the mantle. Mary stepped away from the fireplace toward the bed and sat down on the corner of the mattress facing him. She sipped her brandy as she spoke. "And your name, Lieutenant?"

Matthew took a drink as well, feeling slightly less awkward and warmer. "Crawley. My name is Matthew Crawley." He reached up and loosened the knot of his necktie.

Mary's lips formed a small smile as she spoke quietly. "Well, it's very nice to meet you Lieutenant Crawley."

He winced at the sound of his rank being used by a woman who was here to give herself to him. "Please, Genevieve, I do wish you would call me Matthew. Could you do that for me?"

She nodded. "Yes, oui, of course." She took another sip of brandy. "Where are you stationed Lieut…er, Matthew?"

He smiled at her, relaxing more. "Well, I can't say specifically, but it's near the Front."

"I see," she murmured. "And what compelled you to come to Maison de Mon Coeur?" She suddenly felt the question was stupid. "I'm sorry. I suppose all soldiers come here for the same reasons, don't they?"

He turned his gaze to the fire. "I lost a friend recently. A chap named James Billingsly. He was a captain, like me." He took another pull from his drink. "The night before he was killed he said he wanted to come to Maison de Mon Coeur because he had never been with a girl and feared dying without having ever been with a women."

As he paused, Mary stared at him, feeling her heart break. "And now you feel the same way?" She couldn't help but think that if they had married when they were supposed three years ago, he wound't be in a brothel. The thought tugged at her heart.

He looked at her trustingly. "I saw James' body after it was prepared to be returned home to his family. I thought of all the things he had missed…. And the things I would miss if it happened to me." He shrugged. "If I fall on the battlefield, I want to be able to remember the touch of a woman."

"I see," she added. "So here we are, non?" She smiled up at him from behind the fringe of hair framing her face.

He let out a soft laugh. "Yes, I suppose we are." He hesitated. "The thing is…"

"Yes?"

He wasn't sure how to say it without sounding completely childish, or offensive to her. "The thing is….I always thought the first time would be with the woman I love."

"Oh, I see." She sighed. " And you have a love? Back home?"

He looked down in to the fire, which popped and crackled. "I am engaged."

"Ah, a fiancée?"

"Yes, her name is Lavinia."

"What a lovely name. And she is the one you reserve your love for."

He sighed and looked in to his drink. "I wish it were. She is a lovely woman, and I do love her. But you see, the woman my heart truly belongs to is actually someone else. Someone very special."

Mary's heart was in her throat. She could hear her pulse in her ears and her hands felt shaky, so she took another sip of her brandy. "I see." Her voice travelled off. "And does this other special someone know this?"

He looked over at her. "No."

Mary sounded astonished. "Why not?"

He let out a long breath. "Because I proposed to her a long time ago and then we had falling out." He took another drink. "I said some dreadful things and cut my nose off to spite my face." He shifted his feet on the carpet. "I was a damned fool and now she's engaged to another man, and will probably be better off with him. And I want her to be happy."

Mary wanted to throw her glass at his head. But instead she continued her line of questioning. "So, your visit here will be uneventful, so to speak?"

He smiled over at her and shrugged. "Afraid so."

"Are you sure there isn't a fantasy you wish to fulfill? A desire you have? It seems a shame to waste this lovely bed." She patted her hand on the mattress beside her teasingly.

He chuckled again. "Well, one desire I have is…"

"Yes?" She asked expectantly.

"…is to get a good night's sleep."

Mary smiled back at him, being careful not to reveal too much of her face. "I think we can arrange that, monsieur. Many of my customers tell me I'm very good putting men to sleep."

He laughed as he admired her shapely legs peeking out from the opening of her robe. "I highly doubt that."

Mary shifted. "Well, if you wouldn't mind, monsieur, could you help me out of my corset?"

Mathew straightened up and set his glass down. "I'd be happy to."

"Oh, good," she said as she turned on the mattress. Matthew sat beside her facing her back. Mary dropped her robe from her shoulders, exposing the laces of her corset, and Matthew went to work, his fingers nimbly unfastening each lace. "You are quite proficient at this, Matthew."

He leaned forward, his mouth near her ear. "Just because I've never slept with a woman doesn't mean I've never removed a lady's corset."

Mary gulped as she took another sip of her brandy.

* * *

An hour later Matthew lay on the bed, still wearing his trousers and shirt, thinking as he looked out the window. Genevieve was next to him, asleep under the duvet, her back facing him. He turned his head to look at her, admiring her figure and remembering how beautiful her back had looked when the corset fell way as she pulled her robe back on. He felt restless and decided to go down the hall to the water closet.

He moved quietly as he got up from the bed. Knowing they were probably the only people on the fourth floor, he opted to forgo his boots and padded barefoot across the room and out the door. As expected, the hallway was deserted and quiet. He used the lavatory in silence, and as he was returning to the room he noticed a scullery maid in a black dress and white apron coming from the direction of the stairs, carrying a stack of white towels.

"Good evening, sir," she greeted softly but cheerfully, with a dip of her knees.

Matthew smiled at her. "Here, miss, why don't you let me help you with those towels. I think Genevieve and I are the only ones on this floor and I don't mind taking them to her room."

The maid looked confused. "I'm sorry sir, these are for one of our other guests, Miss Crawley."

Matthew stopped in his tracks. "I'm sorry, did you say, Miss _Crawley_?"

The young maid smiled. "Oui."

Matthew's face grew stern, his lips a thin line of consternation. "Miss _Mary Crawley_?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Oui, monsieur."

Matthew put his hands on his hips. "Am I to understand that the other guest on this floor is Miss Mary Crawley? From Great Britain?"

The maid now looked exasperated but was still courteous. "Oui, oui, monsieur! The English lady, yes!" She handed him the stack of towels, curtsied, and turned and headed back toward the staircase.

Matthew stood in a state of shock, still holding the stack of towels. "I'll kill her," her murmured. He spun around and headed for the room, his stocking feet padding on the plush carpet. "I'll put my hands around that little snake's throat and will wring her neck!" He said through clenched teeth. As he stomped down the hallway he replayed the events of the evening through his head and suddenly began to see things somewhat differently. It dawned on him that he had entered the wrong room…twenty six instead of thirty six. He had been the one to take her by surprise, not the other way around.

But what the hell was she doing at Maison de Mon Coeur?...

He paused outside the door to the room. He closed his eyes, now seeing everything in a more humours light, and laughed at himself. He was a man who believed in fate, and couldn't help but think that fate was somehow playing a hand in his life…and in this moment. Surely it was a sign?

He quietly opened the door, closed it behind him, and set the towels on a side table. He tiptoed over to the bureau and picked up a candle stick, pulled his lighter out of his pocket and lit it. He returned to the bed and carefully sat down beside her, holding the candle so he could see her face. He angled his head to one side to see her better.

Using his fingertips, Matthew gingerly pulled her hair back and the glow of the wick illuminated her face….Mary. "Oh my God," he whispered.

Mary mumbled in her sleep. "Matthew…"

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. The dark eye shadow was dramatic, but in the light he could see the shape of Mary's eyes. And the red lipstick was even more attractive to him in better light. "Mary…" he exhaled her name.

She stirred and began to blink her eyes open. Matthew blew the candle out, casting the room back in to the glow from the fireplace. When her eyes opened, she looked up at him. "Is everything alright?" One of her hands reached out and touched his shirt.

He reached a hand up and caressed hers. "Yes, everything is just as it should be."

Her eyes gazed in to his, which she could make out in the glow of the room. "Having second thoughts about your decisions?" She whispered in a velvety voice.

He leaned forward until his face was just inches from hers. "As a matter of fact I am." He spoke hesitantly. "You asked me about my fantasy…my desires."

She swallowed and nodded. "Yes…"

He placed a soft kiss on her cheek. "It's to be with her…with my special someone…her name is Mary." His voice was deep and filled with emotion.

Mary felt almost breathless as he kissed her chin and around her lips. "Oh," she murmured as her eyes slid closed at the feel of his lips.

"Can you be her? Can you be her tonight?" He looked down at her and smiled, his fingers sliding a strand of hair from her forehead.

Mary's eyes twinkled up at him. She reached up and touched her face. "Should I change something?"

He leaned down and placed a tender kiss on her lips. "Not a thing." Her robe now gaped open and his eyes dropped down at the sight of her cleavage. He leaned down and placed several kisses between her breasts, kissing a trail up over the swell of her full breasts.

A soft gasp escaped from her lips at the feel of his mouth on her skin. Her breath caught as her fingers slid in to his hair and she arched up in to his embrace. "Oh, God, yes…"

"I want you," he breathed against her skin as he kissed her throat. "I've always wanted you, my darling."

* * *

**A/N **...so, she knows, and he knows...but they do not know each other knows. :) This would be a good time to have Mary confess...or for Matthew to tell her he knows it's her. But again, what fun would that be? :) The charade must continue a little bit longer, don't you think? :) Thanks to all of you for your reviews...merci, merci! :)


	4. Chapter 4

The room was dark and quiet, with only the sound of their deep breaths as evidence of their presence. Matthew lay at an angle on the bed, with his head on her chest, catching his breath. A light sheen glistened over his skin and he sighed at the feel of her fingers slipping through strands of his hair. Their coupling was a blur, a passionate but frenzied moment. At times their limbs and mouths had awkwardly collided, fumbling together, and it was only due to her that they had been able to put the French preventative in place without his total utter embarrassment. But in the end, like a perfect puzzle, they had found that their pieces fit together exquisitely.

Mary felt content in an odd sort of way. How ridiculous to have consummated her relationship with Matthew while in disguise as a French call girl. It was beyond all comprehension. Still, she felt an abandon—a freedom—she never would have felt otherwise and smiled to herself in the dark room as she lay beside him. It had happened quickly and clumsily, but she didn't care; she was with Matthew and that was all that mattered.

His voice broke the quiet silence. "Are you cold?" He asked turning his head so that his cheek brushed against her chest.

"A little," she whispered honestly.

Matthew pushed himself up and got out of bed and Mary felt an immediate rush of cold air and pulled the covers up. As he crossed the room, she could see the outline of his body from the hint of light from a street lamp outside the window. He bent down and rustled with several logs on the grate, and gradually the glow of the fire returned to the room. When he walked back to crawl in to bed he reached down and touched himself and Mary could tell he was removing the French Letter they had used. She had hated the little barrier, which felt like a rubber jacket. As he climbed back in to bed, she curled on to her side and up against him, with her head on his shoulder.

"Warmer?" He asked softly, tucking his arm around her.

"Mmmm, oui," she purred and he chuckled.

After several moments he spoke almost apologetically. "I'm sorry it was so hasty…that I didn't…." His voice trailed off. "Well, I think it should last longer and I'm sorry I didn't…well that you didn't." He fumbled to find the right words.

She kissed his cheek. "Don't say that." She cuddled against him and he tightened his hold around her. "I think your special someone—Mary—is very lucky indeed to be loved by such a nice man."

He pouted and huffed out a sarcastic laugh. "Huh…nice. Not exactly a ringing testimonial." He let out a sigh.

She nuzzled her nose against his ear. "Nice is good…as nice as nice can be," she whispered against the shell of his hear.

He smiled and turned his head and kissed her, their lips lingering in a lazy, wet greeting. "Thank you," he murmured against her mouth.

She rested her head back down on his shoulder contentedly. "Tell me about Mary. Is she a lady?"

Matthew felt like he was in the catbird seat. "Sometimes." He shrugged for effect. "That is to say, for the most part."

She felt indignant but had to hide it. "What exactly are you saying?"

He struggled to disguise his smirk. "Well, now that I think about it, she can, at times, be quite obnoxious."

Her mouth flew open and she had to pull it shut. "Obnoxious you say?"

He nodded. "Yes. I once overheard someone refer to her as an uppity minx, and suppose it was quite accurate."

"Well, she sounds like a horrible mess of a woman," she tried to hide her indignant reaction, arranging the sheets around them roughly with her hands. "It's a miracle you feel anything for her at all!"

He softened his tone. "Because I know she is stoic to a fault and has the heart of a lion. It's a difficult position for her to be in."

She began to feel her heart flutter. "In what way?"

He spoke against her hair as his hands caressed her. "Because she is trapped by aristocracy and history, and lives in a sort of waiting room until she is married." He kissed her head. "I only wish I could have been the one to rescue her…to free her from it all."

Her heart softened and she felt her eyes water. "Maybe in your own way you already have?" she kissed his jaw and brushed her lips around his ear. Her hand moved over his chest and down over the soft hair on his abdomen, causing him to suck in a breath.

She kissed along his jaw line and leaned over him. Her tongue teased his lips until a groan left his mouth and their lips slid together in a long, slow awakening of need. Her hand moved over his desire which was immediately rigid to her touch. As her fingers stroked him he turned until he was above her, his mouth covering hers, nipping and sucking her, urgent with arousal. They both panted and moaned and her legs instinctively fell open for him and without hesitation he slid in to the depths of her body until they both groaned in pleasure.

"Oh dear God," he breathed out as he began to slowly move.

Fleetingly she realized they had not remembered protection. The drawer of the nightstand was filled with them…a mere fingertip-length away. But the thought was shooed away by ecstasy as he moved deep inside her and their bodies came together, hot and slick. As she arched up against him he found an ebb and flow to their rhythm, pushing and pulling them from the brink of insanity…faster and then slower until she was floating on a precipice.

Unlike the first time, this felt decadent, unhurried and sensual. She felt her peak building deep inside her, like something that would take her breath way. He slowed his movements and kissed her leisurely and then traced his tongue down over her throat and breasts, teasing her nipples, and leaving tiny kisses on top of her torso until he reached her core. As his tongue slid inside her she felt her body vibrate with release until she cried out, her hands grasping the French linen in her fists. She whimpered breathlessly, and then felt him crawl back over her until his mouth found hers again…the taste of her essence on his lips. His body hard as rock, he pushed deep inside of her, losing control and consciousness with every thrust….both of them tumbling blissfully as his beautiful cries of release filled the room and her soul.

.~~~.

When Mary awoke in the middle of the night, it was just before three. The rain had stopped and moonlight filtered in to their quiet room. The bed felt cold and she stirred as she heard movement. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw Matthew dressed in his uniform, and bent over the fire place. The fire crackled back to life again and he stood and stepped quietly over to the bed.

She blinked up at him and whispered. "Why are you dressed?"

He paused, looking down at her, a beautiful sleepy face. "I should go," he said with a forlorn little smile.

She reached an arm out, her fingertip grazing his hand. "Please…." She pleaded softly. As she turned in the sheets, the linen of the bed fell away from her body, exposing her breasts, their rosy nipples puckered by the cool night air. He couldn't control his eyes or his body. Her hand tugged at his fingers, pulling his hand gently toward her. She opened her mouth and nipped at his index finger, sucking and licking it. His willpower had vanished. He knew this would be their last moment together…if he returned to England they would be with other people; and if he died this would be his last conscious thought.

He dropped his hat on to the floor and his hand began pulling at the waist belt of his uniform, tugging the brass buckle open, and slipping the belt off and dropping it on to the floor with a thud. She watched as he tore at the buttons of his tunic, tearing it off and letting it fall to join the belt. "Christ you are so beautiful…" he panted as he knelt one knee on to the mattress, yanking at his necktie until it tumbled loose, and worked the buttons of his trousers until they fell open on his hips, and his desire was evident.

She licked her lips and pulled the covers back, opening the bed and her body to him. He pulled at the tails of his shirt and bent over her, his hair falling over his forehead while her arms went up and around him and her calves brushed against the smooth leather of his boots. "Take me," she whispered in to his neck as he sunk inside of her, filling her core to the brim, deeper and harder, her hands clutching at his back as they spiraled out of control.

"Oh, God, yes!" he cried out again and again until they both lost count of how many times and how many ways he could love her.

* * *

When Matthew awoke, the morning sun trickled in to the room and he stretched his pleasantly aching limbs in the creamy French linen. His eyes peeked open to see the clock ticking on the night stand. It was seven thirty. He rolled around, but the bed was empty and he was alone in the room. He leaned up and saw her robe on the foot of the bed.

Genevieve…Mary was gone. He slumped back in to the soft sheets, his heart now aching most of all. "Maison de Mon Coeur, indeed," he whispered to no one but himself.

He sat back up. He knew Violet kept an apartment in Paris and if he hurried perhaps he could catch her there?

.~~~.

Out front, Mary quietly closed the gate to the maison. She turned and dashed along the boulevard in her red suit, toward Granny Violet's. In her tiny purse she could feel the lipstick she had stolen, bringing a smirk to her face. She missed him already but her secret was safe in her heart...grateful for getting lost in Paris and for the Home of My Heart.


	5. Chapter 5

Matthew stood on the front step of Violet's townhouse just off Place Vendome. He tightened his brown leather gloves on his hands as he waited for the door to be answered, which it was by a well tailored butler in a dark suit. Matthew stood up straighter and smiled. "Bon jour," he said pleasantly.

The butler sized Matthew up by glancing over his appearance with sniffing snobbery. He spoke in a droll, laissez faire manner. "Oui monsieur?"

Matthew huffed inwardly…._typical French._ "Is Countess Crawley at home? I am her cousin, Matthew Crawley."

The butler remained expressionless. "Non, monsieur. The Countess and Lady Mary are taking petite dejeuner at the L'Hotel Ritz this morning." The butler was perfunctory. "Would you like to leave a message monsieur?"

The news didn't faze him in the slightest. "No, that's alright, just my card, please" he replied as he reached in to his coat breast-pocket and pulled out a small, white square card which he extended to the butler. He turned and quickly took the steps back down to the street and headed for the Ritz Hotel.

* * *

"I adore the chef here," Violet announced to Mary from across the table. "His croissants are the butteriest and flakiest in all of Paris!"

Mary smiled as she stirred steamed milk in to her coffee. She loved being in Paris with Violet. She also loved French coffee, its dark strong roast and aroma pleasing to her, especially this morning as her thoughts were pre-occupied with the night before. "That does sound good, Granny." She smiled earnestly and took a sip of the delicious café au lait.

"Oh, good," Violet went on, "They have cheese omelets on the menu today." Suddenly her attention was distracted from the menu to something across the dining room as she looked over Mary's shoulder.

"What is it Granny?"

"My heavens…what a surprise!"

Mary looked around and saw Matthew entering the dining room and being escorted over to their table by a uniformed waiter. She spun back around in her chair and panicked.

Violet eyed her. "What's the matter Mary? You look like you've seen a ghost." The elder lady seemed to sense something afoot, but her attention was drawn back to Matthew's arrival at the table. "Ah, our dashing young hero!" She held her hand out. "Matthew, what a surprise! To what do we owe the honor?"

He smiled broadly and took Violet's hand and squeezed it thoughtfully. "Thank you, Cousin Violet. I'm so happy to see you!" As he spoke, his eyes glanced over at Mary. "I hope you ladies don't mind me joining you for breakfast? I went round' your townhouse and the butler mentioned you were here."

Violet held his hand a moment longer as her eyes noticed Mary's restraint. "Don't be ridiculous, Matthew. I can assure you, the pleasure is all ours…isn't it Mary?"

Mary finally piped up. "Well, yes, this is marvelous, Matthew. How nice to see you."

"Thank you," he said as he sat across from them.

"What brings you to Paris?" Violet smiled as she pried.

"Oh, nothing special, I just had a few days of leave."

"Well, my, my…what a coincidence that we are all here together." Violet looked from Matthew to Mary and snapped open her menu. "Now then, why don't we all order breakfast and get caught up on things, shall we?"

.~~~~.

As they ate their breakfast, Mary remained somewhat quiet as she listened to Matthew and Violet discuss the city and the latest war news. She didn't like discussions about the war, and only prayed that Matthew would return home safe and sound when it was all over.

Violet couldn't help but notice Matthew's breakfast. He ordered four eggs, a petite filet, roast potatoes, two croissants and brie with fruit. "Dear heavens, Matthew. Don't they feed you in the Army? You have the appetite of a stevedore this morning."

He paused in mid chew of a bite of croissant and brie. "I'm sorry," he mumbled around a mouthful. "I must have gotten carried away, but it's all so delicious."

"What about you, Mary? You've hardly touched your plate. Are you feeling well? You look a little tired this morning my dear."

Mary smiled demurely from behind the rim of her coffee cup. "Oh. No, I'm fine. I just stayed up a little late last night"

"Really?" Violet probed. "Doing what?"

"Er…reading," Mary offered after a hesitation.

Matthew watched her from the side of his eyes and then looked back at Violet as he took a large bite of fluffy yellow eggs.

"Reading?" Violet asked. "Oh, how interesting. Anything we might know?"

Mary looked from Violet over to Matthew. "I don't think so."

"Oh, come now," Violet insisted, "something must have gotten in to you last night and wore you out."

Matthew choked on his potatoes and quickly picked up his coffee cup to take a sip.

Violet persisted. "Don't be shy, why don't you tell us?"

Matthew turned his gaze to her and sided with Violet. "Yes. Mary, what kept you up all night? It must have been rather wonderful if you were up all night with it?"

As she glared at him, Matthew took a long leisurely sip of coffee, keeping his eyes fixed on her from under his brows. _Oh dear_, she wondered…_he knows_. She shrugged. "I was just reading, that's all."

He set his cup down gently. "What about? Something with French in it?" He cocked a brow.

Mary decided to toy with him. "Well if you must know it's the story of a woman who travels to Paris and meets a man."

Matthew went along with her. "A sophisticated, charming suitor I presume?"

Mary sipped her coffee. "No, actually, he's a buffoon."

Violet scoffed. "Well that doesn't sound appealing at all." She nibbled at her omelet. "What about you Matthew? Any good reading keeping you up at night? Something caused that appetite and those blood shot eyes." She chuckled teasingly at him.

He cleared his voice. "There was a gnat in my room and it buzzed about all night and wouldn't let me get a wink of sleep. It was quite a demanding little thing."

Mary's coffee cup rattled in the saucer as she set it down and rolled her eyes.

"Hmmmm," Violet observed in her honeyed voice. "So much nocturnal activity. What's one to do?" She wasn't buying a word of it.


	6. Chapter 6

After breakfast, Mary, Violet and Matthew walked along several exclusive shops adjacent to the Ritz.

The afternoon sun warmed the chilly March air and street vendors offered candy and flowers to passers-by. Matthew spotted a flower girl selling roses. She had a little boy and he noticed that the child wanted a piece of candy but his mother gently shushed him. He reached in to his pocket and bought two roses from the woman which he gave to Violet and Mary; he then paid the candy vendor for several chocolates and discretely offered them to the child. Mary took notice as the little boy saluted Matthew in gratitude; he returned the salute and ruffled the boy's hair with his fingers.

A ladies lingerie boutique caught Violet and Mary's attention, so they paused in front of the window. Violet commented on a set of white embroidered sheets crisply folded in the display. "My, my, nothing is like French linen, is it?" Mary glanced at her and caught Matthew's eye as well, so she bashfully averted her attention back to the window.

Violet looked for a moment longer and wandered ahead; but Mary remained behind in front of the display admiring a dressing gown. It was beige linen with satin trim and matching slippers. She seemed lost in thought as she gazed at it.

"It's lovely." Matthew's voice was soft and genuine beside her. "Why don't you go inside and buy it?"

She looked up at him, her awkwardness abated, and she shrugged. "It's beautiful and frivolous. But with the war so close I'm afraid I can't really justify it. Perhaps someday I'll buy one just like it." She smiled up at him and smelled the rose he'd just given her by delicately touching the bud to her nose.

Matthew studied her. "Mary, I want you to know…"

Just then Violet rejoined them and interrupted. "Come along my dears! The car is waiting." The black sedan idled along the curb. Matthew reached out and opened the door for the ladies and climbed in behind them, and the shiny car pulled away and joined the stream of traffic.

"Now then, what would you two like to do?" Violet smiled. "Perhaps you can drop me at the apartment and you two would like to stroll the Tuileries or visit the Louvre?"

Matthew smiled appreciatively. "That's very kind of you, Cousin Violet, and it sounds wonderful, but I'm afraid I have a train to catch at three o'clock at Gare de Lyon."

Mary looked at him. "Oh? So soon?" She furrowed her brows in concern and instinctively ensured the rose was safe in her lap.

He nodded. "I'm afraid so. I have to make camp by this evening so I should probably head to the station." Glancing down, he brushed a piece of lint from his hat on the seat beside him. "But I'm so glad we all had a chance to be together in Paris."

Violet sighed. "Well then. The station it is."

* * *

By the time the car arrived at the main entrance of Gare de Lyon, the giant clock tower on the corner of the station announced two forty in the afternoon. "Well, then" Matthew said as he reached out for Violet's hand. "I'm so glad we had a chance to see each other Cousin Violet. Thank you for the lift to the station."

"It was fate," she said as she extended her hand and clasped his tightly. "And the pleasure was all mine, Matthew." Her voice was tender and tinged with affection. "Be safe my boy, please be safe."

"I'll do my best."He turned and opened the door and stepped out in to the sun, shutting the door behind him. He leaned on the door looking at Mary. "I do hope you'll write."

Mary nodded. "Yes, of course. Please take care and let us know when you're back home on leave." She tightened her hands around her purse.

He smiled brightly. "I will. Thank you." As he glanced at both of them he squinted in the sun and put his hat on, tugging the bill over his brow. Mary thought he looked as handsome as she had ever seen him. She wanted to say something more, but before she could he turned and headed in to the station, disappearing in to a sea of humanity entering the station.

As Mary's eyes followed him, Violet's voice distracted her. "Oh! Mary! Look!"

Mary turned around, slightly annoyed, to see what Violet was going on about. "What is it Granny?"

"Oh, my…" Violet said again, huffing, as she bent down to pick something up off the floor of the car and leaned back up. "Look, a fifty pound note." She was almost breathless with excitement. "It must have fallen out of Matthew's wallet!"

Mary tilted her head and eyed her suspiciously. "Really, Granny, I hardly think Matthew is carrying around fifty pound notes in France, or that they are falling out of his wallet. I think that's yours." She shook her head somewhat amused at her grandmother's matchmaking attempt.

"Nonesense. Now don't argue with me Mary Josephine!" Violet tucked the money in to Mary's hands. "Hurry, now, and take this to him in the station before he boards his train!"

"Honestly, Granny." Mary rolled her eyes.

Violet spoke quickly, her voice filled with excitement. "Hurry, hurry! It's nearly three o'clock!" Violet nudged her arm with her hand.

Mary eyed her but reluctantly took the money and opened the door. "Oh, all right." She stepped out of the car. "I'll be back in a moment." She turned and dashed up the steps in to the station joining the hustle and bustle of passengers.

.~~~.

Matthew walked liesurely beside the train toward his car, but stopped and turned at the sound of his name.

"Matthew!"

He saw Mary jogging along the platform after him and it brought a smile to his face. "Mary? What is it?" He couldn't help but feel happy to see her, whatever the reason.

She was slightly out of breath. "I'm sorry to track you down but Granny said you dropped this on the floor of the car." She held out the fifty pound note.

Matthew looked at it suspiciously. "Fifty pounds? Violet thinks _that_ fell out of my wallet on to the floor of the car?" The corners of his mouth turned up. "Whatever would I be doing with that much British currency in my wallet on my way to the Front?"

She felt embarrassed and gave him a knowing look. "Don't shoot the messenger."

He laughed. He happened to notice several Red Cross nurses collecting donations. "Here, give me that," he said snatching the note. He stepped over to the Red Cross table and handed the money to one of the nurses. She gushed at him. "Oh, monsieur! Merci, merci, merci bien!" The young nurse was overjoyed at the generous donation. Matthew smiled and bowed slightly as a gesture and returned to Mary.

She beamed approvingly. "That was quite a generous donation. How fortunate that Granny found that money, isn't it?"

"Yes," he paused, "It must be fate." He held her gaze.

"Yes, fate" she nodded. "There's been a lot of that going around in Paris." She looked at him for a long time as people around them were boarding the train. "Well, then. I suppose I should let you board your train." She smiled whistfully and turned to head back to the car.

She was stopped by his hand grabbing her arm... "Wait," he said. Matthew glanced around the station looking for a spot for them. He saw a deserted hallway.

She turned around and looked at him. "What is…?" Before she could say anything she was being pulled behind him as he headed toward the hallway, tugging her along. He led them in to a hallway, looking back at her as he led her in to the shadowy hall.

"Matthew," she breathed out, "What's gotten in to…" he cut her off as he pressed her up against the wall and pressed a kiss to her lips. Mary's eyebrows went up in surprise and she softly gasped as he held her face with his hands and kissed her cheeks, eyes, and forehead.

"Whatever happens," he murmured as he kissed her, "wherever I go or whatever may come, I will always be with you in my heart."

Her eyes watered and she sniffled. She tried to kiss him back but her tears streamed down over her lips, leaving watery pecks over his cheeks and neck. Her head was pressed up against the wall as his mouth covered hers and their bodies pressed together. Their tongues swirled around each other erotically in their mouths until the only sounds in the dark walkway were their soft breaths and sighs.

"Q' est que c'est?" The voice of a gendarme came from down the hall.

Matthew stopped and leaned his forehead against Mary's, as he panted quietly. The gendarme's footsteps grew closer and Matthew looked in to Mary's eyes and then stepped back.

"What's going on here?" The gendarme now asked in English recognizing Matthew's uniform.

Matthew kept a hand on Mary's arm as he turned to look at the policeman. "I'm terribly sorry, I was just saying goodbye…"

"Ah…" the gendarme saw Matthew's rank and his voice became pleasant. "Oui monsieur. Vous et la femme?"

Matthew nodded courteously. "Oui, exactement," he said looking back at Mary who stood quietly.

The gendarme smiled and pointed a finger to his wrist watch and tapped his fingertip on it. "The train, monsieur….vite, vite. Rapidement!"

Matthew and Mary ran back out to the platform. The train was already pulling out of the station, it's massive steel cars moving forward and clouds of steam pouring out on to the platform.

"Matthew!" Mary started to say, trying to confess. "I wanted to say that…the truth is..." But the sound of the train and crowds drowned her out.

He reached up to the hand rail by the steps and jumped on to the stairs. He turned to look back at her and waved as the train pulled away. "Goodbye, Mary!"

She raised a hand and waved back. "Goodbye!" She called out after him, watching as the train pulled him away. She stayed and watched as the train disappeared, taking him away from her. "Goodbye," she whispered again to herself, standing alone on the platform.

And he was gone.

* * *

Mary's bedroom at Violet's townhouse was spacious and opulent. As she removed her clothes to change for dinner, she sighed and gazed in to the fire that flickered in the fireplace. The rose that Matthew had given her sat in a bud vase on the mantle. A soft knock at the door pulled her attention away. "Yes?" She asked, her bored tone masking her loneliness.

A maid entered, holding a large box. "Excuse me, Lady Mary, but this box just arrived for you."

Mary turned to watch as the maid set down a large white box tied with a red bow. "What's this?"

The maid read the top of the box. "It's from La Boutique Privee. A delivery boy just delivered it."

Mary looked at it in surprise. "But I haven't ordered anything." She reached for the bow and tugged at it. "Did the delivery man mention who sent this?"

"No, my lady." The young maid walked over to the fire and stoke it, paying no attention while Mary opened the box.

Lifting the top off, Mary slowly opened the box. She reached inside and her fingers pulled at the crinkly tissue paper. She gasped at the sight of the garment inside.

"What is it, my lady?"

Mary smiled as she lifted up the beige colored dressing gown. "Something I was admiring in a store window earlier today."

The maid gave an appreciative glance. "How lovely. I wonder who sent it?"

Mary saw a card at the bottom of the box and reached out and picked it up. She turned it over in her hand and read the inscription:

_For Genevieve…in memory of fate and French linen._

_Matthew_

* * *

**A/N ** I know, I know...we have suspended reality a bit in this story. But it's more fun that way, isn't it?._ :) _One more chapter to go...


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N** Hi there! *smiles* Thank you all for patiently waiting for the next post to this story, and MANY thanks for all of the lovely reviews and suggestions that have been posted. It is so very nice of you! Originally, I had only intended to craft 7 chapters for FAFL, the final one being an epilogue. However, there were many, many reviews and PMs that requested I add a reunion scene in Paris now that "they both know that they both know." :) So, I am doing that in two additional chapters. And "Merci beaucoup" to R. Grace for graciously reading my draft and sharing her most valuable impressions. :) Enjoy!

* * *

Paris - Four Weeks Later

As the weeks passed, Mary accompanied Violet on shopping sprees, dining engagement s and site seeing ventures all around Paris and their visit was drawing to a close. But her mind was preoccupied with Matthew and their evening at Maison de Mon Coeur. She walked down to the beautiful cathedral not far from her grandmother's townhouse and prayed for Matthew's safety and God's forgiveness. She didn't regret their love and she supposed war compelled people to act on their feelings in an impetuous manner, which she hoped God would understand. After all, she reasoned, it had been fate that had brought them together in Paris in the first place…hadn't it?

"Oh look," Violet said sounding intrigued as she buttered her toast at the morning breakfast table, reading from an English newspaper. "The second regiment of the North Riding Volunteers is returning to London. And their troop train is passing through Paris this afternoon." Her voice dripped with suggestion as she looked over at Mary.

Mary peered up from her breakfast, trying to appear nonchalant. "Oh?"

Violet queried her. "Isn't that Matthew's unit?"

Mary felt her heart beat faster and she took a deep breath. "Yes I believe it is." She took a sip of orange juice, her mind racing at the thought of possibly seeing Matthew, but pushed it out of her head. Then she grew concerned. "I wonder why they are returning to London? It isn't due to casualties is it?"

Violet held her specs up in front of her eyes and glanced down at the article. "It's something to do with a military rotation. It says here they will be back in England for several weeks, while reinforcements head to the Front." She eyed Mary conspiratorially. "You should meet his train, Mary."

"Me?" She was astonished. Her eyes searched her grandmothers.

"Yes, dear. Why the hesitation?"

"Granny, Matthew was just here a few weeks ago and I might remind you that he is engaged to marry another woman. Besides, what would Sir Richard think if he hears about it?" She wanted to meet the train, but worried it would make her appear desperate.

"Now, now, let's not muddy the waters worrying about people who aren't even here," Violet said waving a wrinkled hand and sounding exasperated. "Matthew is 'blood'. Meeting his train, as a family member in uniform, is the polite and appropriate thing to do. It makes perfect sense and anyone would think so." She crunched a tiny bite of her toast to emphasize her point.

* * *

Matthew sat on the train secretly reviewing the reading material in his lap, his hands obscuring it in case anyone was to walk by and see it. It was a brochure Madame Vouloir had given him when he had checked out of the maison four weeks earlier. She had said it was, "…an enticing souvenir of Maison de Mon Coeur." It had drawings that depicted couples in various intimate positions. He angled his head to one side trying to comprehend one particular pose. "Oh, my," he whispered quietly, his brows wrinkled in concentration. "_Crikey_…"

'Crawley!"

Matthew snapped the brochure shut at the sound of the major's voice coming from the walkway. "Yes, sir!" He pronounced as he stuffed the brochure deep in to his overnight bag. Looking out the window he could see the Eiffel Tower and the city sites passing by as they neared the train station.

Major Bailey's head popped from around the corner of the doorway to Matthew's compartment. "We're pulling in to Gare du Nord, Crawley. We need the men assembled for a head count before everyone disperses to their next train or hotels for the evening. Some are leaving for London tonight and some are waiting until morning. The muster should only take about twenty minutes."

"Yes, sir," Matthew crisply replied standing at attention. "I'll see to it straight away, sir, as soon as we arrive."

.~~~~.~~~~~~.

At four that afternoon Mary wandered among the crowds at Gare du Nord. Some people were catching trains and some were meeting trains; others, like her, appeared to be milling about. The British troop train had Union Jacks attached to the front engine and they flapped in the breeze as the giant black steel train pulled in to the station and slowed to a heavy, squealing stop. Puffy white steam hissed and billowed out all around the platform and Mary squinted to see what was happening. Almost immediately men in uniform began descending the stairs from the train cars and clustered on the platform. Their uniforms appeared dirty, muddy and they looked tired and disheveled. More men poured from the train and her eyes searched for any sign of Matthew. She could tell the officers from the enlisted men, but everyone looked so untidy they all looked just alike.

Suddenly she heard several men organizing a group of soldiers, and a familiar voice. She looked over and saw that it was a sergeant and a lieutenant in charge of the group. Her mouth dropped open as she realized the officer was Matthew as she almost didn't recognize him. His uniform was dirty and his boots still had mud on them. His face was smudged with grime and his hair hadn't been cut and stuck out from around his wheel hat. She moved closer and watched as Matthew and the sergeant gently ordered the men in to a well-lined formation.

The sergeant did an about face and saluted. "All the men are present and accounted for, Lieutenant."

Matthew returned the salute with a snap of his arm. "Thank you, sergeant."

As Mary observed them she felt a swell of pride not only in Matthew's service, but in all of the men who were risking so much for King and Country. She felt she might burst her buttons. As she stood and watched the proceedings a funny thing happened…she began to notice an odor. It was subtle at first and then more pungent, a sweet and foul stench. She glanced around at other onlookers around her to see if anyone else might be noticing it, and indeed they did. She overheard a man speaking in English to a woman beside him, "Poor lads. They haven't bathed, washed their clothes or had a warm meal in weeks."

Mary's heart broke a little at this realization. It was as close as she would ever come to seeing the Front, and understanding what the conditions were really like.

Matthew dismissed the formation and saluted various soldiers as the group began to disperse. He reached down and picked up his bag and began to walk toward the entrance when he was stopped in his tracks. "Mary!"

She smiled and waved her hand gently back at him. "I hope I'm not bothering you, truly. But I read about your unit passing through Paris today in the paper."

"A bother?" He asked with a smile. "Don't be silly," he nearly gushed at her. He held his arms out to his sides. "I'd give you a hug but I'm afraid I'm awfully a mess." He laughed awkwardly at his own condition, attempting to brush some mud of the arm of his tunic with his hand. "I think it's been at least four days since I've even shaved." He chuckled.

Mary blinked looking at him. She had never seen him fresh from the Front. He had dark circles around his eyes, whiskery stubble on his cheeks and chin, his lips were chapped and cracked and his hair was matted.

"Have you been waiting lo…." Before he could get the rest of his question out, Mary flung her arms around his neck, knocking the wind out of him with a hug. "Ooof," he exhaled as she embraced him tightly.

"I don't care what you look like," she mumbled in to his neck as mud flaked off from his uniform and sprinkled on her dress. His arms went around her waist, pulling her to him, and she felt her heart flutter. "I only care that you are safe and that you are here."

"Thank you," he said against her shoulder. He felt exhausted but was overjoyed at seeing Mary and holding her in his arms. "I thought you and Cousin Violet had returned to England last week?"

"We delayed due to the weather on the Channel." She leaned back to look up at him. "Do you have arrangements for tonight? When are you leaving for London?" She couldn't believe how tired he looked.

"No, I don't have plans. And as far as London is concerned, I'm due there the day after tomorrow."

To meet Lavinia, Mary presumed. "I see…until then, why don't you stay with us? There is a lovely guest room you can use."

He smiled. "I'd like that. I need a bath, among other things. I'm desperately unkempt." He reached up and rubbed his chin.

She smiled and took his hand leading the way. "I think we can take care of everything. You're in good hands, Lieutenant."

* * *

An hour and half later, Mary stood outside the guest room, rapping gently on the door. "Matthew?" There was no reply and the room was silent. "Matthew…" she called again. Feeling concerned at how tired he as, she carefully turned the door knob and opened the door, peeping in to the room. "Matthew?" she whispered.

Stepping softly in to the room, Mary saw a trail of filthy uniform clothing strewn on the floor. Dirty boots, trousers, a khaki shirt, necktie and tunic led a trail toward the door to the bathing room. Knowing there would be no valet at the townhouse in Paris, Mary smiled and reached down and began collecting articles of clothing. She turned her head slightly to one side. "Oh, dear me, these are quite unpleasant."

One of the maids entered. "Oh, my lady, please let me." She reached for the bundle of dirty clothing in Mary's arms. "I was just coming back to fetch those things. But first I wanted to help Lieutenant Crawley with his bath."

"Oh?" Mary asked.

"Yes, ma'am. The first tubful of water turned nearly black with mud and dirt so I drained it and we brought up more fresh hot water for him. Now it's nice and clean and bubbly-hot for him." She smiled as she went about her work around the room gathering clothes, jackets, and boots. "Now I'll get to work on this uniform. We'll have the Lieutenant spick and span in no time, my lady!"

"Thank you, Clara that is so kind of you."

"Not at all, Lady Mary. Now if you will excuse me I must get these things down to the laundry." And with that, Clara left the room.

Mary waited for the maid's footsteps to disappear down the hallway, and then gently knocked on the door to the bath. "Matthew?" She whispered. She pressed an ear to the door but heard nothing. She grew concerned. He was so tired, he might fall asleep and drown-she had read about such things. She gingerly turned the door knob and opened the door.

Peeking in to the steamy room she could see Matthew's head reclined back on the rim of the porcelain tub, his eyes closed, as steam swirled up all around him. She called out softly again. "Matthew?"

He stirred in the tub and the water sloshed gently. He cleared his throat. "Yes?"

Mary pulled the door shut again and spoke through it. "It's just me. I wanted to make sure everything was alright."

"Yes, yes, it's wonderful…perfectlly wonderful. I'll be done in a moment."

"No, no!" She said a little too urgently. "Please, take your time. I didn't mean to disturb."

"Mary?" He called back to her gently.

"Yes?"

"You are never a disturbance. Wait a moment, will you?"

"Yes, of course," she said, stepping away from the door. Mary clasped her hands behind her back and looked around the room. She noticed Matthew's overnight bag on the floor and bent down to pick up and set it on the luggage rack. As she did, something fell out of it and glancing downward she saw that it was some sort of paper. Reaching down, she picked it up and immediately raised an eyebrow at the name Maison de Mon Coeur printed across the top. Mary looked over her shoulder and eyed the door to ensure she was alone, and then opened the brochure. Her eyes were immediately met with drawings of an intimate nature and they widened at the sight of sketches of naked couples in intimate positions. "Oh, heavens," she murmured to herself. She noticed Matthew apparently made a pencil mark beside one and her brow went up in stunned surprise….or was it exhilaration?

Suddenly, the door opened behind her. "Mary?"

She instantly dropped the brochure back in to the bag and spun around. "Yes? Oh, there you are." She caught her breath hoping he hadn't seen her perusing the brochure. "All better I presume?"

Matthew smiled at her. He was wearing fresh pajamas and a robe, the sash tightened around his waist. He slid his hands in to the pockets. "I feel like a new man."

He was shaved, his freshly washed hair was towel dried, and as he moved Mary could smell his after shave which made her tingle. "I'm so glad. I figured you wouldn't be up to having dinner downstairs, so I've arranged for a tray to be brought up."

"Thank you. I hope you'll explain to Cousin Violet." he said sweetly. He took several steps toward her and put a hand on her arm. "I appreciate your coming to the station to meet me." He hesitated and swallowed. "I was wondering if we could try our reunion again, now that I have freshened up a bit?"

Mary smiled up at him. The warmth from his hand radiated through her blouse to her skin. "Well, I think that could be arran…" She was cut off by the sound of the maid at the door.

"Pardon me, Lieutenant Crawley, but Lady Mary asked me to bring a dinner tray up for you, sir."

Matthew took a step off to one side of Mary. "Oh, yes. Thank you, Clara. That would be quite nice. I appreciate all of your assistance."

Clara set the tray down on a desk along the wall by a window. "Not at all sir. Just ring when you're done and I'll come and collect everything."

Mary wrung her hands together. "Well, I really should leave you to eat in peace and rest a bit. Perhaps I can look in on you later?"

"I'd like that. Thank you." As Mary left, Matthew eyed the dinner tray which made his stomach rumble with hunger. As he lifted up the napkin, he happened to glance over toward his overnight case on the luggage rack and noticed that the brochure from Maison de Mon Coeur was resting on top.

A knowing smile crossed his face as he anticipated Mary's late night visit.

* * *

**A/N** To be continued! :)


	8. Chapter 8

Mary tightened the sash of her beige dressing gown to cover herself up more as she quietly approached the guest room. The door was ajar, so she peeked in. A lamp glowed on the nightstand and she could see Matthew stretched out on top of the bed, still dressed in his robe and pajamas, softly snoring.

She carefully pushed the door open and tip-toed inside, closing it silently behind her. The sight of Matthew soundly sleeping made her smile. She stood by the bed for a moment and then gingerly sat down on the edge of the mattress. The gentle weight of her movement prompted him to open his sleepy eyes. "There you are," he said softly. "Here to check up on me?"

She smiled. "Yes but I didn't mean to wake you, really.

"It's alright." He said. "I feel like I'm in a dream anyway."

She tilted her head. "Oh? How so?"

His drowsy eyes looked up at her as he spoke in a deep whisper. "Well, last night I was hunkered down in a muddy bunker with three other men, surrounded by canon fire." He paused to cover a yawn. "And now, twenty four hours later, here I am taking hot baths, dining on roast beef and Bordeaux, with a lovely raven-haired beauty sitting on my bed….in a particularly inviting dressing gown, I might add."

Mary smirked at his comment and self consciously pulled the robe tighter around her.

His eyes glanced down over her. "I see you received my present?" A smug, teasing smile tugged at his lips.

She smiled demurely. "Yes. It was quite a surprise, and you shouldn't have done it."

He reached up and brushed his hand down her over her arm until their hands and fingers were laced together. "I wanted to surprise you. You admired it so in the window that day."

She reached in the pocket and pulled out the card that had come with the gift, and recited it. "_For Genevieve…in memory of fate and French linen."_ Mary eyed him and arched a brow and chided him in a heavy whisper. "You're a scoundrel, Matthew Crawley!"

His eyes widened and sparkled up at her in amusement. "I'm a scoundrel?" He gasped sarcastically. "That's the pot calling the kettle black." He huffed out a laugh. "I wasn't the one posing as a…as a…_lady of the evening_ at Maison de Mon Coeur." He shook his head in the pillow. "What the devil were you doing there in the first place?"

Mary chuckled and told him the story of getting separated from Violet at the train station, and the rain storm and getting lost without her luggage. "And so, there I was in the room, undressing behind the partition, when you walked in. So, it's practically your fault." Her eyes were filled with humor as she teased him.

He laughed and put his other hand over their joined hands, pulling them closer together. "Well, you certainly had me going for a while didn't you?"

Mary chuckled and spoke enticingly. "I suppose, for a while maybe. But at what point in the evening was my cover story compromised?"

He lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed it. "When I went down the hall for a moment. I ran in to a chamber maid who was bringing extra towels for a guest named Lady Mary Crawley."

Mary exhaled and rolled her eyes. "Ah, I see. I should have known better than to trust the French."

He chuckled and held her hands to his chest and spoke under his breath. "Just so you know I never would have spent the night with Genevieve."

"So you said that night." She reached a hand up and brushed his hair off his forehead. "And yet, you changed your mind."

"Only after I knew it was you," he offered affectionately. He tugged her hands closer, bringing her face close to his and placed a soft kiss on her lips. As they shared several quiet kisses, he rolled them over, so she was lying beneath him and he was looking down at her.

Mary purred as he began brushing his lips over hers and placed a trail of tender kisses along her jaw line toward her ear. "I thought you were tired?"

"I'm not _that_ tired," he murmured against her skin.

Mary smiled as her eyes rolled in to her head and her eyelids fluttered shut. She felt her entire body quiver at the feel of his lips, his warm breath, and the tip of his tongue as it lapped at the shell of her ear. Her breathing came more quickly and she realized her hands were clutching his arms, pulling him on top of her. "Matthew…" she breathed out.

"Hmmmmm?" His voice was muffled by the ministrations of his mouth on her neck. Her leg had slid between his and he was slowly rubbing against her.

"There's something that I have to tell you about that night." She was barely able to speak as her heart beat sped up.

"Yes?' he panted in to her ear.

Mary thought she could nearly fall apart from the sound of his voice and feel of his mouth and body against her. "Well…" she was quickly losing her ability to speak.

He eased back to look at her. "What is it?" He nuzzled her cheek and smiled seeing how beautiful she looked and the way he could make her feel. He felt warm and powerful and wasn't embarrassment at his own body's arousal as he leaned against her. He suddenly stopped. "Oh, wait..." He held his head up to look at her more clearly, his blue eyes deep and smoldering in the glow of the room. "Are you trying to tell me that you are?" He glanced down over her torso. "That we…?" He spoke in fragments as his face changed from confusion to utter joy at the notion that they might have created a child.

Mary's eyes popped open. "What?" She read his expression. "Oh, heaven's! No, no…"

He cut her off. "Because if that were the case, Mary, I can assure you…I think it would be wonderful!"

She looked up at him aghast. "Wonderful?" she dropped her voice to a whisper. "A child out of wedlock? Are you mad? It would be scandalous!"

He settled himself back down on top of her again. "Not if it were love." His eyes looked deep in to hers. "If it were love, it could never be that. And sometimes, war rushes things between people, but if it were love it would always be right." He brushed the tip of his nose against hers. "Would you really think it awful?"

Mary felt her heart swell and butterflies happily floated in her tummy as they lay speaking about such a personal matter. She knew he was right and shared the truth in her heart. "Of course, if were out of love, it wouldn't be awful." Her lips curved up in a vulnerable smile as he kissed her. "But that isn't what I was trying to say."

A part of him was sorry. "Then what?"

Mary's face grew serious again. "I think Granny's on to us and knows about what happened at Maison de Mon Coeur. I mean all of her comments at breakfast that morning. Didn't you notice?"

He chuckled. "Yes, I suppose. But I didn't detect an objection if that's what you mean? After all, she trumped up the fifty pound note to have you deliver it to me in the station before I left. That doesn't exactly sound like a woman who is trying to discourage anything, now does it?"

Mary giggled. "I suppose not."

He resumed kissing her jaw again. "Speaking of Cousin Violet, where is she?"

Mary sighed and hummed as she replied, sliding her arms up around him again. "Her bed room is two floors down, off the main level. She established it there so she wouldn't have to take the stairs anymore."

He mumbled as his lips slid over hers. "That's excellent news." His mouth covered hers in a passionate kiss. Their tongues and breath mingled as their bodies pressed closer together, urgent to join. Mary's hands tugged at his robe, pulling it open so she could feel more of him. He eased back for a second to help her pull it off altogether, and then leaned back to down to kiss her with hungry desire. Her fingers easily worked the buttons of his pajama top, as his unfastened the sash of her dressing gown. They hastily tugged, pulled and pushed fabric aside desperate to feel skin against skin.

His lips kissed a path over her chin and throat, prompting her to arch her head back in to the mattress. "Oh, Matthew…" Her mind was a blur of feelings, ecstasy and emotion, spreading out to through her limbs and fingers. One of her hands slid down over his soft belly and under his pajamas, finding him rigid and ready.

His breath hitched at the feel of her touch forcing him to stop for moment. Matthew pulled her robe open to find that she wasn't wearing anything underneath it. "I don't…" He took a breath. "I'm so…" He couldn't complete his sentence and his hands trembled with desire and need.

Mary slid between his legs and helped guide their bodies together. As he slid deep inside her they panted and their foreheads touched. His hips moved slowly, pushing his length deep insider her. "You'd tell me wouldn't you?" He asked.

Mary had to catch her breath to reply, her brain nearly detached of all reason. "What?"

He rolled his hips again. "If there were a baby, I mean…you'd tell me, wouldn't you?" He wanted to fill her with his body and his life…he would fill both of them.

Her eyes softened and glittered up at him. Her fingers slipped in to his hair. "Oh, Matthew…yes, I would." As he moved, she curled a leg around his hip and her body welcomed him as deep as he could possibly go. "Yes, yes, yes, yes…." She muttered until they were both lost in lust and undeniable love.

.~~~~.~~~~~~~.~~~~~

Mary woke up and glanced at the clock on the end table. The lamp had been turned out so she had to read the time in the dark. It was three in the morning. She turned and snuggled back up against Matthew, rubbing her cheek on his shoulder. He was asleep, yet one of his arms tightened around her. She felt safe and warm and dreamy, as though twilight filled her soul. As she let herself drift off again her thoughts wandered to the brochure she had found in Matthew's overnight bag. She remembered the image that he had made a pencil mark next to. She smiled to herself and decided to be reckless.

She glanced up at his sleeping face and ran her warm hand over his body, finding him aroused again. He hummed in his sleep, which made her smile. Gingerly, she pushed the covers aside and placed gentle kisses from his chest down over his abdomen. She traced her lips down toward his center until her lips brushed the crown of his arousal. She was inexperienced but let her curiosity and imagination guide her, letting her tongue swirl around him, glazing him with shiny wet kisses.

Matthew murmured something and one of his hands came to rest on her back. "Mmmmm, Mary," he breathed out.

She took him in her mouth as her hands tenderly explored his body. She glanced up and saw his head rolling in the pillows and heard his deep breathing. She took him deeper and his other hand fisted and bunched in the sheets. His body was warm and it's taste reminded her of the sea, and she felt an addiction awaken inside of her.

His head arched in the pillow. "Ung, God…" he sleepily reached out for her and felt her legs and bottom. Seeing her head between his legs, her hair spread out over his thighs, his mind nearly unraveled and he arched again at the overwhelming sensation. "Oh, Jesus," he whispered.

As Mary continued to love him with her mouth and hands, he turned and found her core with his fingers, touching her gently at first and then sliding his fingers through her folds. His mind was a blur and his body on fire as he remembered the brochure and the image Madam Vouloir had check marked. He reached for Mary's hips and drew her body closer, until he could reach her with the tip of his tongue.

She jerked at the initial sensation. As he lapped at her, she let him guide her center until she was straddling his mouth, his hands up around her bottom, rolling his tongue over her, nipping her with his teeth and drinking her in.

She felt him swell in her grasp as her own peak pushed her to the edge, moaning around him until she came apart, her groans vibrating over his body, driving him to the brink. Matthew cried out, his soft gasps and sweet muffled scream filling the night, vibrating up through her, pulling her over with him once more until they were pushed to delirious abandon.

* * *

**A/N ** One more chapter to go! Thanks so much for following this fun story. :)


	9. Chapter 9

Downton Cottage Hospital – March 1918

Matthew lay in his hospital bed trying to make an effort to read The Times. It was draped in his lap over his useless legs. He snapped through the Court Circular and the Editorial pages, then tossed it aside and leaned his head back against his pillows which were propped up behind him. He tried to make sense of everything. He felt he had done the right thing by ending the engagement with Lavinia. She meant well when she had come to the hospital, and he did love her and admired her for it. But the events with Mary the previous summer pulled at him; moreover they had secretly been together again at Downton during his last leave in December just a few months back. He was perpetrating a lie; lying to himself and to Lavinia. His honor dictated that he do the right thing for everyone—she deserved better and so did Mary…and so did he.

Mary caught his peripheral vision and he glanced at her as she approached the bed carrying a tray with a tea pot, two cups and saucers and a small plate with scones.

"Hello. You're looking well today. I thought we might have a spot of tea together, if it's alright with you?" She spoke pleasantly as she set the tray down on the bedside table and poured. "Is Lavinia coming again today?"

He shook his head gently. "No, afraid not."

"Oh? I'm sorry to hear that." She handed him a tea cup which he took.

He looked down in to his tea. It was Earl Grey, his favorite. He smiled realizing that Mary had already added milk and a cube of sugar. She knew just how he liked it, as was the case with so many things. "I sent her away." He lifted the spoon from the saucer and gently stirred the creamy brew.

Mary was surprised. "What? I don't understand." She sat down in the chair beside the bed, her cup and saucer in her lap.

"We called it a day." He took a sip and it warmed him through. "It wasn't fair to anyone, least of all her. And no woman would want to be with me as I am now anyway—an impotent, cripple." He huffed sarcastically and looked over at her. "And now that I am destined to go through life in a chair, I felt it was the honorable thing to do all 'round."

Mary sat stunned but she understood and admired him. "And she agreed?"

He nodded. "After a long conversation about it, yes. I didn't go in to any details, of course, but she had to admit that a wartime romance—even a loving one—was not the most authentic start to a marriage." He sighed and took another sip. "What an irony," he muttered, "I am an heir who will never have an heir. I will never be able to fulfill my duty as Cousin Robert's successor." He looked off across the room, his eyes filled with melancholy.

Mary raised her tea cup to her mouth and whispered ender her breath. "Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that."

The comment wafted over towards Matthew but he missed it at first. Then he looked at her from the side of his eyes. "What was that?"

Mary whispered. "I said I wouldn't be so sure about that."

Looking at her, he slowly pushed himself up a little further in to the pillows. "Are you?" He glanced around and then back at her and kept his voice hushed. "Dear, God, what are you saying…?"

Mary looked over her shoulder realizing they were surrounded by recuperating soldiers. She set her cup and saucer down and stood up and sat down next to him on the bed. She reached in to her pocket and withdrew a small note pad and a pencil and scribbled something down. She tore the sheet of paper off and handed it to him.

Matthew looked down at the note. It had two words on it: _Baby. September_.

His eyes shot back up at her. He was astonished and it showed across his face. He was barely able to contain his voice and his excitement. "Are you saying?...What I think you're saying?" He looked at her expectantly.

She nodded and a Mona Lisa smile turned up the corners of her lips. "Yes!"

One of his hands reached out and gripped her arm. His eyes watered as he looked at her. "I don't know what to say," he whispered.

"I'm afraid we're a scandal," she whispered back, her voice filled with pent up emotion she had been wittholding for months.

He laughed and wiped a tear away. "But if it's out of love it can never be a scandal, isn't that right?"

She ran a hand lovingly over his outstretched arm. "That's right. It it's out of love it could never be that. And sometimes war rushes things between people, doesn't it?"

"Yes," he said softly. He lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed it.

Mary smiled. "So, as you can see, whether you like or not, you have a lot to plan for."

"_We_ have a lot to plan for," he corrected with a smile.

She chuckled. "And so much to live for."

* * *

Downton Abbey – Christmas 1918

Mary sat on the red divan cuddling her three month old son, cooing at him and making silly faces. Robert watched her and delighted in it. "I'm so glad to see you happy my dear. He's getting bigger every day, isn't he?"

"But he'll always be our little prince." She replied never taking her eyes off her child.

Robert looked around. "Where's Matthew?"

"Here I am!" He called out as he entered the library, still walking with the aid of his cane. "I just had to find my wretched stick. Sorry." He laughed and found his way to the divan and sat down beside Mary. He immediately leaned over and gazed at his son, joining Mary in admiration of their small heir. "How's my little chap today?"

"Sleepy," Mary announced with a laugh. She scooted closer to Matthew and they leaned back together, cradling their child closely between them. Matthew's hand gently brushed over the baby's soft, velvety head and he wrapped his other arm around Mary. They hadn't stopped smiling since Reggie's birth, or since their small private wedding the previous spring.

Carson passed a tray, offering glasses filled with champagne. Robert stood and walked over to his daughter and son in law. "If I may, I'd like to propose a toast." The room gave him their attention. Matthew and Mary started to stand, but Robert's affectionate hand pressed on Matthew's shoulder, holding them in place. They looked up at him.

"I'd like to wish everyone a very Happy Christmas and share with you all of my love. And a toast to my beloved son and heir, Matthew, for his safe recovery; and to our grandson and littlest heir, Reginald Crawley."

"Hear, hear!" The room chanted merrily.

He turned toward Matthew and looked at him, his glass still raised. "A new life begun…like father like son."

Matthew was so filled with happiness he was speechless. Mary kissed his cheek. "You will be a wonderful Earl one day Matthew. But just so you know, with or without that, I always have and always will love you with all my heart."

He smiled. "Thank you for _pushing in_ to my life." He kissed her and whispered in her ear. "And for being my Genevieve."

Mary brushed her lips with his. "And we'll always have Paris…and the memory of fate and French linen."

**_Fin!_**

* * *

**A/N** Thank you all for reading and following this fun little story and revision of events from canon. Thank you for all of your reviews and support! I truly appreciate it! :) Merci, merci bien!


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